A Haunted House Is A Home
by Northern-Southern Belle
Summary: Stuck in a rainstorm after visiting her mother at the cemetery, Belle French takes shelter in a mansion belonging to the ghost of one Rumplestiltskin, who takes her on a tour of his home. One-shot. Also based on the Haunted Mansion ride.


Disclaimer: Only the plot and any original characters belong to me.

 **This story is inspired by the prompt "An unexpected rainstorm" for a monthly Rumbelling, AND the Haunted Mansion attraction at the Disney parks.**

"Rest in peace, Mother," Belle said with a sigh as she put the cheerful yellow flowers in front of Colette's grave. Then she heard a crack of thunder and quickly got to her feet. "Oh, dear," she sighed and hiked up her skirts so she could run easier. "It sounds like rain. I better get home before I get soaked. I promised Father I wouldn't be late."

To save time, she took what she thought was a shortcut through the cemetery, but ended up getting more and more lost until, her hair and dress wet and heavy with rain, she stopped in front of an old, abandoned mansion. It was the sort of place one heard stories about, but she'd never actually been inside. It was supposed to be haunted. In life, the owner had been an eccentric and somewhat miserly millionaire, and when he was murdered for his money, no one thought he would be resting quietly somewhere. Not if he knew he was getting his money stolen right out from under him. She'd never been inside and her father had always told her to stay away. But now, if she didn't want to be soaked, she had no choice but to go inside.

She reached out for the doorknob, squeezing it tightly. The door was heavy, and she pulled and pulled, but it didn't open. Finally, stepped back, her eyes widening as the door opened with a squeak. She peered through it to the darkness within, taking a deep breath and running inside.

The door slammed behind her and she found herself plunged into darkness. She waited for her eyes to adjust, and then carefully made her way to a shape that resembled a chair. She sat down and then called out, "Is anyone one here? Hello? If there's anyone here, I want you to know that I mean no harm. I just came in here to get out of the rain. I'll leave once it gets over."

She then gasped as a fire appeared in the fireplace with a _whoosh!_ Gasping, she rose to her feet and made her way to the fireplace, reaching toward the warmth.

"Now how did that happen?" She whispered to herself. Then, she heard the voice behind her. "I hope I didn't scare you."

The voice was strong and clear, echoing off the walls, colored by a burr. Scottish, it sounded like.

"No," she got out. "I-I'm not scared. Where are you? _Who_ are you? If you're the one who made me this fire…thank you."

"You're welcome," the voice answered, but Belle saw no one.

"All right," she told him as she stood up and paced around. "Now I'm not the type to scare easily, but wouldn't it be nicer if we could see each other as we talk? Can't I know what you look like?" Her eyes then widened as a man in blue and black pinstriped pants, and a purple vest over a white shirt, covered by a mustard-colored jacket, and shiny white shoes with spats appeared in the nearby chair. His hair was long and brown with flecks of gray and in some disarray, and his eyes were slightly crazed.

"See?" He said as he stared. "I knew I would frighten you if you saw me."

"No," Belle shook her head as she backed into a chair opposite him. "I was just a little surprised, that's all. I thought ghosts were just in stories to scare children. I had no idea they were real."

"Neither did I until someone decided to end things for me," the man remarked.

It was then that Belle noticed the length of frayed brown rope around his neck. "Are you sure someone killed you?" She blurted. "Couldn't you have hanged yourself?"

"No," the man shook his head. "I'm not the type. Go ahead and look around this place and you'll get a good idea why I wouldn't choose to leave it."

"Would you give me a tour, please?" Belle asked. "I would love to hear what you have to say about the things here. What they all mean to you. And…what's your name? Mine is Belle."

"Rumplestiltskin," the ghost told her.

"Well, that's an interesting name," she remarked as she got up to warm herself by the fire again. "How did you get it?"

"I couldn't exactly say," the ghost shrugged. "My father gave it to me and he was a very strange man."

After Belle was warm and the fire had been put out, Rumple offered, "I suppose you would like to change into some clothes that aren't damp."

"That would be nice, but if you don't have any, I don't want to inconvenience you," Belle said.

"Oh, it's not an inconvenience," Rumple assured her. "Women's clothes have been lying around unworn for years. You putting them on would probably do them some good." He gave her a smile that anyone else would have found frightening, but not her. "And would you like a tour of the rest of the house after you've changed?"

"Yes, please," Belle smiled. "I would love that."

He led her down a hallway with red Oriental carpet and dreary looking portraits of grumpy people. Belle held a candelabra in her hand that gave off some light, but instead of being helpful, it just gave everything an eerie glow, and even as Belle looked at the portraits, her mind began to play tricks on her eyes. Instead of the people in the portraits, she saw decaying corpses and other horrible imagery. She shuddered and kept walking.

"Are you all right?" Rumple asked her. "I hope you aren't frightened, although if you are, you wouldn't be the first. That's the saving grace of this place. It can be unsettling if you don't have a strong enough will."

"Thank you, but I'm fine," Belle told him.

"Good," the ghost nodded. "I thought you would be."

* * *

Although the plan had been to give her the tour _after_ she changed clothes, Rumple changed his mind told her about every room when they entered it.

First, there was the old conservatory. It was full of plants that Belle assumed had once been beautiful, but now they were all dead.

"Were you into gardening when you were alive?" Belle asked as she picked up a dead rose and looked it over.

"I hired someone to tend a garden for me," Rumple explained. "My wife liked fresh flowers. I, on the other hand, had an allergy."

"Oh," Belle quickly put the flower down. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Rumple said, picking up the flower and somehow using some power to make it alive again before handing it to her while trying not to sneeze. "There you are."

"Thank you," Belle told him and took it, sniffing it deeply to make sure it was actually alive. Then she noticed the coffin.

"Where in the world did this come from?" She asked. "What is it still doing in here? Shouldn't it be in the ground?"

"You would think so," Rumple nodded, putting a hand on her shoulder, which made her shiver. "But apparently my relatives didn't think I was worth the expense, even though I was the one that paid for the damn thing. Like I said, they strung me up and then threw me in the ground, tossing dirt over me." He ran his hand over the coffin, which seemed to be made of gold with red velvet interior. "What I wouldn't do to be lying in this." He then noticed that Belle was beginning to look frightened and said, "Well, never mind that. I have a room to show you that will be much more to your liking, I hope."

"Thank you very much," Belle remarked, glad that she was being taken out of the room without her having to ask.

They went down a hallway with many heavy, elaborately decorated doors on either side, and alarming noises emitted from some of them.

"Can I ask what's in there?" Belle wanted to know.

"I wouldn't," Rumple advised. "In fact, I wouldn't say a word if I were you. The people on the other side of these doors are people that wish me ill and I assume you don't want them to get out and hurt you?"

"No, thank you," Belle shook her head and walked a little faster. "I wouldn't like that at all."

* * *

When they got out of the hallway, Rumple paused by yet another door and asked if she wanted him to open it.

"Well, I don't know," Belle shook her head. "Is there anything dangerous on the other side?"

"No," Rumple shook his head and straightened his vest. "If there was something bad on the other side, I wouldn't have made the offer. This is the library. Do you like libraries?"

"Yes, I do," Belle nodded. "Please open the door."

He did so and gestured for her to go in ahead of him. She came into the extremely dusty and cobweb-filled room, sneezing as she headed toward the bookshelves to see what dusty volumes he had.

As she looked through them, she was momentarily alarmed by the sight of the library's ladder darting to and fro as books fell out of the shelves and onto the floor.

"What are you doing?" Belle asked with a smile as she went to gather them up. "Making a mess?"

"No, but if I wanted to, I could because it's my house," Rumple replied. "Are you interested in reading any of those?"

Belle looked them over. She shouldn't have been surprised that they were scary books, or at least depressing ones: poems by Edgar Allan Poe, Dickens' _Bleak House,_ as well as books on mythology and folklore concerning spirits and monsters. "My goodness, why do you have such dark books? It's a wonder you were ever able to sleep at night."

"I just find them interesting," Rumple shrugged. "Put them back and maybe I can find something more cheerful for you."

"Thank you, but why read when there's more of your house to explore?" Belle asked. "I assume there's more?"

Rumple sighed and toyed with the noose around his neck. "I would say there is, but I don't think it would be of any interest to you."

"You don't know that," Belle told him, leaving the books in a pile and getting to her feet, an eager look on her face. "Come on, let's go."

Rumple groaned as he followed after her, leading her down a long, dark hallway, past a clock with a pendulum that looked like a demon's tongue and a clock that didn't tell time as its hands spun wildly around, the shadow looming large on a nearby wall and nearly giving Belle a heart attack in the dark.

"Where did you get that clock?" She asked. "It's terrifying."

"I picked it up on my travels," Rumple remarked. "I thought it would be a good conversation piece." They stopped by a closed door and Belle could hear the sound of talking and musical instruments coming from inside it. She tried to get the door open, but the handle wouldn't budge, and from the look on Rumple's face, she felt that was his doing.

"Is there a party going on in there?" Belle questioned. "I want to see. Please open the door."

"No," Rumple shook his head. "You don't want to go in there. There's nothing very interesting. If you want to see a party, there's one in the grand hall that's much more fun."

"I'm not going to let us go on until you let me see who or what is behind this door," Belle informed him. "So you might as well open it and get it over with."

Sighing deeply, Rumple unstuck the door and Belle went inside, her eyes widening a little when she saw who had been speaking: it was a woman's head in a crystal ball.

"What are you staring at?" The dark haired woman demanded. "Haven't you ever seen a spirit medium before?"

"Well, yes," Belle nodded and sat down at her table. "But not when it's only their head."

"That's her fault and she knows why," Rumple said to Belle. "So if she tries to tell you anything different, ignore her."

"Your family betrayed me!" the woman yelled. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You plotted with them to kill me cause they promised you half my fortune for your help, Regina," Rumple reminded her. "How is that not doing anything wrong?"

"Tell me," Regina said to Belle. "If someone offered you millions of dollars and all you would have to do to get someone out of the way, would you do it?"

"No!" Belle shook her head. "That sounds despicable to me. It seems like you got what you deserved."

"Yes," Rumple grinned. "She told them that she would use her knowledge of magic to trap me in the crystal ball and then they'd split the money after. But then my relatives got impatient cause it took her too long to do what she promised and when they hanged me, _she_ was the one who got stuck in the crystal ball." He giggled. "All magic comes with a price, I guess."

"Did you come in here because you wanted something, or just to annoy me?" Regina spat.

"Actually, I didn't want to come in here at all," Rumple told her. "I even mentioned how unpleasant you are, but Belle wanted to meet you anyway." He put a hand on Belle's arm. "Have you been here long enough to understand why I don't like this room?"

"Yes," Belle nodded and stood up. "You said there was a party in the next room? I'd like to see that."

"You're giving her a tour?" Regina questioned. "Well, be careful when you take her into the attic and she meets my mother."

"Oh, I don't know if we'll go there," Rumple replied. "And I would like to thank you _so_ much for trapping that witch in this house too, as if I didn't have enough problems already!"

"Better to keep her here where I can have my eye on her than let her roam freely among an innocent populous, don't you think?" Regina countered.

"Oh, I suppose," Rumple huffed. Then he turned to Belle. "Let's go to the party, shall we?" He asked, offering her his arm.

But what she discovered in the grand hall was that there wasn't exactly a party. At least not one that was actually happening. But apparently there had been one once, as the long table was full of the remains of wine bottles and glasses and what had once been a large birthday cake that was now covered with mold and bugs.

"Oh, goodness," Belle shuddered, her eyes closed tight, shivering both from the chill in the air and the ghastly image of the rotting cake. "How awful!"

"I'm sorry I haven't kept things as clean as you would like, or as warm," Rumple told her sarcastically. "It's just that I'm not accustomed to live guests, you see, and every consideration has been given to _my_ comfort. I suppose that's why no one comes in the first place." He paused, frowning in distaste as he checked a chair for dust. "I take that back. I really should clean." He got out a duster and began doing just that.

"And you _did_ make me a fire when I came in," Belle pointed out as she turned away from the table. "That's something." She walked around cob-web covered room and said, "How long has it been since a party was last held here, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rumple sighed and put the feather duster down. "Many years ago, I suppose." He chuckled ruefully. "The last one that was held was probably the one celebrating my death."

With that being said, the room suddenly became a lot less cheerful and Belle expressed a desire to move on.

"Let's go to the next room," she suggested. "Please?"

"I want to dissuade you from that, but I know it would be useless at this point," Rumple told her. "But the person in there, in the attic where we're going next, thank goodness she's not dangerous anymore. But she was, once. So just…be on your guard. Look alive."

* * *

As Rumple said, the next room they entered was an unfinished attic. It was dark and there was junk everywhere that Belle had to try not to trip over. And though it wasn't obvious at first, Belle soon became aware of the sound of a loud, steady heartbeat permeating the attic.

"What's that?" She asked Rumple. "What's making that noise?"

"Not 'What'" Rumple corrected. "But 'Who'? Her name's Cora. Mother to our friend Regina downstairs. And quite an ambitious woman. See?"

Belle did, realizing that much of the junk in the attic was wedding gifts, arranged, she assumed, by the marriage they were bought for, and accompanied by the wedding portrait of the couple. And each portrait had the same woman in it: young, dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, wicked smile.

"Cora Mills," Rumple said, picking up one of the pictures. "She began life as a common miller's daughter, but wanted much more…and did she ever get it."

"Are any of the men in these pictures you?" Belle asked curiously.

"No, thank goodness," Rumple shook his head. "She died before I even had the chance." He stopped by the last photo, of Cora and a very earnest-looking young man with dark eyes and dark hair. "She died in childbirth, with Regina, who was her last husband's child. He was a prince."

"No, seriously?" Belle asked and took the picture. "Where in the world would she find a prince?"

"Knowing her, it wasn't hard," Rumple replied. "She would look and look until she found him. And it was only his status that allowed him to live as long as he did. But she died before she could be crowned queen. I think that's part of what keeps her here. That anger, and that bitterness. And then when she found out that he was going to remarry…that's when she came back to end his life…on his wedding day, too. Beheaded him, just like she did the others."

"Poor men, all of them," Belle sighed, looking at the handsome men in each photo who couldn't possibly have known what they were getting into when these pictures were being taken." She paused. "How did she do it?"

"Simple," Rumple replied. "Took an axe and…off with their heads." His eyes widened as Belle heard a voice loud and clear behind her. "Don't turn around, Belle. Don't turn around."

But she did and Belle found herself face to face with the malevolent Cora Mills, axe raised high, and eyes insane, seeming very far gone as she muttered under her breath: "I do, I _did_ …in sickness and in _wealth_ …we'll live happily ever after…you may kiss the bride…til death do us part…" Then she brought the axe down and Belle let out a cry. But because it was a spirit wielding it, it did her no harm. Belle began running for the nearest door when suddenly, a spirit in a top hat and black cape held the door open for her. "Run!" He cried. "Run!" Belle was able to look at the man long enough to recognize his gentle eyes from his portrait. It was Regina's father. Then not two seconds later, his head slowly disappeared before her eyes, a reminder of what had been done to him.

Thanking him although she wasn't sure he could hear her, she ran out of the attic and down a flight of stairs that mercifully led to a door that led her out of the house and into the now warm and sunny outdoors.

"I did warn you about the attic, you know," Rumple told her.

"Yes, you did," Belle nodded as she sat down on a bench among the graves of the private cemetery and tried to catch her breath.

"I assume you want to leave now and never come back," Rumple told her. "And if that's true, I wouldn't blame you. But I want you to know that it was nice having company for a while. I enjoyed it."

"Well, I did too," Belle told him. "And…and I suppose if I stayed out of the attic, I'd be willing to come again." She paused. "Or…you wouldn't mind letting me buy your house, would you? Is it for sale?"

"I'm sure that it wouldn't cost too much to buy a haunted house," Rumple told her with a smile. "In fact, I think my lawyer's been trying to get it off his hands for years now. If he's still alive. But are you sure?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but it really _is_ a beautiful house and I hate the idea of it just sitting here and going to waste," Belle replied. "So, yes, I'm sure. If you'll have me, that is. I think I would find the idea of living in a haunted house perfectly fascinating. I just have to break the news to my father. I don't know what he'll say."

"Well, when you've convinced him," Rumple told her as he handed her a piece of paper, "Here's my lawyer's number. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you." He grinned. "And please, hurry back. I would just _die_ if we never saw one another again."

 **The End**


End file.
